I pull my arm back and throw as his hands shift slightly with each minor move of my body, keeping my form absolutely perfect as the knife sails from my hand.

It sinks deep into the wood at the center of our X.

I twist toward him, and his hands move with me instead of dropping, and I’m staring up at him, his face half lit in the moonlight, with his hand still under my chin and his other one pressed into my back. The hand at my back moves, pushing me slightly so I take a step closer, closing the distance between us. His eyes widen like this is a surprise to him, like it’s not his hand moving me.

This is a really bad plan. It’s one thing to take lessons from a rival troupe; it’s another to share a moonlight… whatever this is. I clear my throat.

His hands drop, and he steps around me. “That’s enough for one night.”

By the end of the fifth night, I stand so far from the target that the waves nip the backs of my ankles. I try not to shiver as I breathe in and out. Shivering makes it hard to keep my breaths steady. One wave dares to rise a little higher, soaking my pants up to my knees. Distracting. Probably the exact reason Roman wanted me to back up so far in the first place—to see if my form will hold while I fight the cold seeping through me.

I pull back my arm and breathe, setting the knife free on the exhale. It hits its mark, and only then do I splash out of the water toward the drier sand, searching Roman’s face for some kind of excitement at my progress. I’ve come far in five days, practicing with Xander during the day and Roman at night.

I want him to share some type of emotion with me. If he did, I’d be tempted to call him my friend. Isn’t this what friends do? Help each other when they get nothing in return? Maybe he’s getting something out of this that I don’t know about. Or maybe we are friends. Maybe he’s as bad at making friends as I am… was. I have more now than ever before.

Roman stares off down the beach. When he turns back to me, his brows pull together.

No excitement, then.

“And the stake.”

I grimace. We’ve been practicing with knives and stakes, but I don’t have the same affinity for controlling wood as I do for metal. Still, I do as I’m told—only this time I stand much closer to the target. I throw the stake, and it lodges into the wood a few inches from the knife.